


platinum cunt

by Prim_the_Amazing



Series: Bingo [5]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alley Sex, F/F, Hate Sex, Illustrated, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 15:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Jester doesn’t see what all of the fuss is about. Oh, sure, she’s a pirate captain lady with tall leather boots and big strong biceps and no sleeves and cool tattoos and a freaky, interesting eye in her hand and long red hair and so? So? What’s the big deal? Why’s Beau staring? Why’s Fjord going into her room at night?She isn’t jealous and she isn’t being obtuse. She’s just wondering, is all.





	platinum cunt

**Author's Note:**

> For gen trope bingo, trope: Enemies. Avantika's an enemy! She gets fucked! It's on theme.

Jester doesn’t see what all of the fuss is about. Oh, sure, she’s a pirate captain lady with tall leather boots and big strong biceps and no sleeves and cool tattoos and a freaky, interesting eye in her hand and long red hair and _so?_ So? What’s the big deal? Why’s Beau staring? Why’s Fjord going into her room at night?

She isn’t jealous and she isn’t being obtuse. She’s just wondering, is all. Sure, Avantika _might_ be _sort of_ attractive. But not that much, right? _Jester’s_ attractive, right?

Except Beau isn’t staring at her and Fjord isn’t going into _her_ room at night. Which is. Fine. She’s not upset. She’s never ever upset. No one likes being friends with upset people, especially people who get all grumpy just because you’re having a good time staring at and having sex with a pretty, dangerous lady.

Even though she’s definitely _evil._ Whatever.

She and the Mighty Nein are at the pirate bar, all of them lost and scattered in the noisy throng. Beau’s snoring at the table by Jester’s elbow, drunk and flushed and passed out, and Jester would lovingly sketch the growing puddle of drool and the way her cheek is all squished against the pillow of her arm, except she’s busy looking at Avantika, trying to see what’s so special with just her eyes across a crowded room.

Avantika smiles, sharp canines (so what), red lips (so _what),_ a little smug and predatory and the man she’s talking to laughs so nervously high that Jester can hear him over the noise of everyone else from the other side of the room, can see the bright red flush creeping up his neck. She leans across the bar and trails sharp red nails down his chest, close and intimate in a threatening way, and probably a little hurting from the way the man jumps in his seat. She leans in and whispers something into his ear. From the way his whole body goes stiff, it was either a threat or flirting. Maybe both. Whatever.

And then Avantika’s eyes catch Jester’s across the man’s shoulders, sending a jolt through her at the sudden piercing, unexpected attention. She looks away, trying to casually act like she didn’t notice anything and wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, nope, even as she feels her shoulders creep up to somewhere around her ears. Her tail lashes once before she makes it curl around the leg of the chair she’s sitting on. She gulps down some of the gross ale they’ve got here, eyes squeezing shut in disgust.

When she opens them, Avantika’s standing in front of her, having crossed the distance between them as quick as if she’d used Blink. Jester makes an undignified, surprised noise that she _hates_ that she made in front of _her._

Avantika grins down at her, all sharp, smug, dangerous teeth, amused. Jester puffs her cheeks in annoyance.

“What is it you wanted, Avantika?” she asks, dropping the _captain_ on purpose. Not because she’s being petty, no, she just doesn’t feel like being polite to the lady who’s forcing her and her friends to work for her is all.

“That is what I should be asking you, no?” she says, all pretty lilting accent and intent half lidded eyes. Voice asking a question, eyes challenging. “You were giving me quite a venomous glare, my dear Sapphire.”

Jester bristles. She regrets that codename. It had been the first thing that had occurred to her at the time, but now all she wants to do is snap at her that only her mama gets to call her that, _thank you._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, eyes wide and innocent.

“Some may find idiocy cute,” she says, leaning over the table all close to her face, and oh there’s her cleavage and _oh_ there’s quite an intimidating darkening look on her face, and she smells like the sea and some sort of perfume, “but I do not think it suits you, _ma cherie.”_

Maybe that’s the difference, the allure. Jester’s cute, nice, a good friend. Avantika’s _hot,_ mean, a dangerous, irresistible enemy. Clever and sharp enough to cut yourself on if you don’t pay careful attention, while Jester’s safe enough to turn your back to entirely.

Jester likes being trusted. She does. It’d just be nice to have some attention too.

“I am not your cherry,” she says tartly, even though she knows enough of Avantika’s language to recognize pet names and curse words.

“More like my blueberry, perhaps.”

Jester frowns, peeved. That’s _Caleb’s_ name for her, sometimes, when he’s feeling a little silly and affectionate, which is rare. She doesn’t want to taint it.

“I’m not yours either,” she says instead, because sometimes when you tell people not to call you something then they’ll remember to _always_ call you that one thing.

“I disagree,” she says. “You work for _me_ after all. Live on my ship, eat the food I let you have, survive by my permission.”

Jester bristles, grips her tankard tightly, eyes narrowed. What a _bitch._

She reaches out one gloved hand and grips Jester’s chin. Jester jerks, startled, incredulous and angry, and she snaps at the hand with her teeth without thinking, like an animal. She misses Avantika’s retreating fingers by half an inch, and Avantika laughs, all high and dainty and delighted. She grins, big and toothy and like she could and wants to eat Jester right up.

“So you’ve got _some_ fire to you, girlie,” she says, smooth and silky and a little slimy, smug smug smug in her eyes, smug and amused like at a pet who has done an entertaining trick.

Jester stands up fast enough for her chair to clatter loudly down onto the floor, the racket lost in the din of the rowdy bar. Beau snores from down on the table, deep asleep with booze.

 _“What’s so great about you!?”_ bursts out of her instead of anything else, any smart mean responses or giggly deflections. “Why is everyone so _crazy_ about _Avantika,_ huh? You’re just-- some mean lady! So what! You’d think that your pussy was made of _platinum_ with the way people look at you, you, you--!”

She sputters into speechless, stuttering rage, and Avantika looks at her with blank surprise for a moment before tossing her head back and _laughing._ Jester’s going to _kill her._

 _“What’s so funny!?”_ she demands, tail lashing behind her like an infuriated cat, head unconsciously bent so her horns are facing her.

 _“There_ you are,” she says, wiping away a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. “There’s the _real_ Sapphire.”

No it fucking isn’t. She isn’t-- _this._ She isn’t mean and angry and petty and jealous and insecure and shouty and making a scene. This isn’t her! It’s just-- Avantika, twisting her up. Yeah. Avantika ruins everything, everyone, makes everything worse. Stupid, stinky Avantika. Why can’t she just _leave._

Her lips pull back from her teeth, showing some _real_ sharpness. She’s met tieflings with teeth sharp enough to be stolen from a sharks mouth, and she’s not quite there, a little diluted by her dad (who still won’t answer her Messages, not that she’s upset about that or anything) but they put Avantika’s eye catching canines to shame.

“A much prettier smile than your usual,” she praises, like this is supposed to be a smile, like snarling is something good or pretty.

The cold doesn’t affect Jester as easily. Inversely, she gets hot way more easily than everyone else. She wears thin silk sleeves and no cloaks or scarves even in winter. In this sweltering, overcrowded bar, Avantika standing too close, she feels like she’s boiling. Sweating, too much clothes covering too much of her skin, her blood rushing hot, her skin warm like it’s sunburned.

She can’t make her brow smooth out from its angry scowl, can’t cover her viciously gritted teeth, can’t make her hands relax from their tight fists. She feels ugly. But only Avantika is really looking at her, looking at her _intently,_ and it doesn’t feel like it matters anything to be ugly in front of Avantika. She _wants_ to be ugly in front of Avantika. She wants to rip her sexy, smirking face off.

“You’re much more captivating like this,” she purrs, steps back without taking her eyes off Jester. Jester seethes at the idea of Avantika leaving with the last word, with that smug look still on her face like she’s won, and she follows. She follows Avantika right out of the bar without a single look back. She won’t let her out of her sight until she’s done with her.

The cool outside air feels refreshing against the sweat on her hot skin, feels like it lifts a bit of the angry fog over her mind and leaves her a bit keener. Maybe she shouldn’t have left Beau asleep behind there, she’ll get pickpocketed again. But you’re not allowed to steal on pirate island, and the rest of the group are someone in there too anyways. It’s fine. Avantika’s laughter is trailing after her in the darkness of the night like crumbs for her to follow, and Jester doesn’t know what she’s about to do, what she can do, but she has to do _something._

She finds Avantika in an alley, leaning against a brick wall, all long legs and eyes that look anticipatory in the way that a predatory animal waiting to pounce on its prey is anticipatory. She can still hear the loud bar from the alley, but they’re all alone. Just them and some barrels and crates, Avantika nestled in behind one stack of them so she’s not easily seen from the street.

Jester marches over towards her like she’s about to punch her, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s going to do, except she’d get her and her friends into _so_ much trouble if she does, so what _is_ she going to do? She hasn’t made up her mind yet until she’s close enough to see Avantika’s eyelashes in the dark, close enough for Avantika’s hand to snap out and _grab_ Jester’s _horn._ She makes an offended, infuriated noise, fingers crooking like she doesn’t file down her claws into a cute little manicure and now she’s regretting that, she really is, this woman deserves to have her _eyes clawed out._

Avantika yanks her in close and kisses her, hot and searing with lips and teeth. Jester’s brain flatlines. Avantika takes the opportunity to snake her other hand low around her waist, to draw her in and grind up against Jester’s crotch with her own. She bites Jester’s lower lip, releases it, breathes low and sultry, “I’ll show you the famous platinum cunt, yes?”

Well. She had wanted to see what all of the fuss was about, didn’t she? Why Fjord kept coming back for more and why Beau kept flirting like picking at a scab that she knew that shouldn’t touch but couldn’t resist. And maybe like this Jester could get to _hurt_ her.

She’s not supposed to want to hurt people, but it’s Avantika, a bad person, an enemy, so it’s _fine._

Her hands go to Avantika’s sides, and she digs in as deep as she can with her nails and _drags_ them down, just barely disguised as sensual, as passion. Avantika makes a sound low in her throat that could be either pleasure or pain, but she hopes that it’s the latter (and maybe a bit the first? Maybe?). Jester wishes that the stupid shirt wasn’t in her way. She bets she could’ve gotten blood if it wasn’t.

“Feisty,” Avantika hisses, eyes narrowed, and she jerks Jester’s head back with the grip she still has on her horn and _attacks_ her throat with her teeth. There’s licking and sucking, just enough of it for there to be plausible deniability that she isn’t just trying to tear Jester’s throat out with her teeth. A breath of pain escapes her, and she grinds back against Avantika without even meaning to, a fire in the pit of her belly, in her veins. She wouldn’t be able to not move if her life depended on it, if Avantika had a knife to her throat instead of her sharp, sharp canines.

Jester tears at Avantika’s shirt, her scarf, tearing them off of her in messy rips and tatters. She pants, chest heaving, like she’s struggling for air. Avantika’s lips, tongue, teeth scraping and biting. There’s blood, there has to be blood, there must be, sliding down the outside of her throat from Avantika’s mouth. Or it’s just sloppy kiss spit and a messy red smear of lipstick. Jester keens, grinds. She _better_ leave Jester bloody.

Avantika has to stop biting at her to laugh against her prickling, wounded skin, low and breathless, which lets Jester catch her breath and for the rage to overcome her libido once again. Or maybe win out. At some point that she hadn’t noticed, they’d started blending. Maybe when Avantika roughly pulled her in and started kissing her, or was it when she was leaning down and showing her cleavage and her deadly face, or when she was calling her pet names in one breath and insulting her in the next?

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s read books, heard jokes and stories and spied on people who weren’t her mama through secret holes in the wall. If it’s not a sweet, sweeping romance then it’s at least supposed to be fun and giggly and indulgent.

She imagines _sweet_ or _giggly_ with Avantika and snarls automatically, digs her nails that aren’t claws but at least aren’t blunt into her back and shreds the back of her shirt too, knocks Avantika’s hand off her horn with a sudden, strong twist of her head and kisses her lips again, kisses deep and rough, to make up for what she’d given her before. She shoves her thigh in between Avantika’s, pushes it up so Avantika gasps into the kiss and grinds down on it. The fire in her belly flares like it was just stoked. The gasp is a victory, the response a win. It feels less like she’s making Avantika feel good and more like she’s making her look _weak._ Jester’s not Avantika’s if she can overwhelm her like this, make her make noises and move without meaning to. She’s _hers._

Avantika seems to regain her senses, because now one of her hands is in Jester’s hair, pulling it tight and painful, and the other is pulling her skirt up. Jester bites her lips bloody but doesn’t stop her, furious at how much she wants for Avantika to touch her back, to give her some relief, but willing to let it happen so long as Avantika doesn’t find out.

This isn’t sweet or pretty or nice. This is mean sex, cruel, painful, ugly sex with blood and cursing and insults in between the kisses, all hate and pent up aggression and desire. This is _fucking._

It’s good that no one here’s to see it but Avantika, bad that someone could wander into the alley at any time and see Jester be like this. She _isn’t_ supposed to be enjoying this so much.  Her heart shouldn’t be beating so fast and hard, her head shouldn’t feel like it’s swimming in a sea of the good kind of booze at the hisses and swears that escape Avantika, at the smell of her, the feel of her, the way her blood smears across her skin as Jester claws at her back. She’s not this kind of person. It’s just because of Avantika. It’s just for a little bit, and then she’ll be pretty and nice and happy again, she swears.

This shouldn’t be freeing. But it is.

Avantika finally slips her hand past all of the frills and layers of her skirt, gets a finger into her underwear, rubs at her, slides into her pussy immediately. Jester inhales sharply, arching, a creaky little moan escaping her. There’s drunken laughter from the street only feet away. She thrusts down on the hand automatically.

Avantika laughs, that awful, beautiful laugh taunting her. “You’re wetter than the ocean, _ma cherie.”_

A sound escapes her, but it's less of a moan and more like something she’d utter during a fight, a wordless frustrated roar. She hitches her thigh up into Avantika’s perfect, lovely, platinum fucking cunt rough and hard, and Avantika moans, thrusts her fingers up into her in revenge. Jester kisses her, nips at her jaw with her sharp teeth, revels in Avantika’s slight pained flinch.

It blurs then, like Avantika’s smeared blood and lipstick, like the angry, aroused fog in her mind. Avantika has her fingers in her, an unfair, tremendous advantage, and at some point Jester rips Avantika’s bra off to suck and nibble at her nipples, just a bit too hard, and Avantika is _panting,_ Jester’s blood is _roaring_ in her ears.

Avantika thumbs at her clit, hisses a condescending pet name, and Jester howls as she comes. No one even runs into the alley to check what the noise is. The island is that kind of place.

Avantika coos as Jester has to lean heavily against her to not fall down as her knees go weak and wobbly and her head spins. “Poor thing,” she says, smiling wide and white and mocking, “is this your first time?”

It is, but like _fuck_ Jester’s going to tell her that. She growls, definitely inhuman, not a noise some _elf_ could make, and she lets herself drop to her weak knees, claws Avantika’s pants down to her knees, belt roughly and clumsily unbuckled. So it was a _contest._ She hadn’t been told. What a bitch!

She rips Avantika’s panties straight off, destroying the flimsy thing, and licks into her hot and hungry, like she can devour her rage in the wet opening between Avantika’s legs. A cry escapes Avantika, like Jester had gotten a hit in, like she’d stabbed her, and she feels vicious, vindictive happiness. Avantika’s hands in her hair, gripping her not like she’s trying to hurt her but like she’s trying to hold onto a raft during a storm. Pushing her up and in and closer, thrusting down on her face, wet and hot and messy and wanting, panting, small cries on every other exhalation, legs going as wide as she can while standing, supported by the wall and Jester’s bruising grip. Jester focuses on licking, on the tips and advice she’s read and heard over the years. She’s not going to lose. She’s going to make a fool out of Avantika, make her weak, strike her down.

Such mean, ugly impulses. She doesn’t even feel guilty about them. It’s wonderful.

Avantika’s voice breaks when she comes, her back arching, her head thrown back, lost entirely to what Jester’s doing to her. Jester milks the orgasm for as long as she can, lingers and soaks in Avantika’s loss, her little death. She feels warm and tingly, not like a roaring, passionate, hateful, consuming fire, but definitely like she could go again if she wanted to. But she doesn’t really want to. She wants to leave with the last word.

Once Avantika stops screaming, Jester lets go of her, steps up and away. Avantika collapses to her knees onto the ground, face flushed and lips red with bloody bites rather than lipstick that got kissed away ages ago. Jester looks down at her, and it’s _perfect._ Buzzing with orgasm, watching Avantika wrecked by her own mouth, kneeling in front of her. She _lost._ She lost to Jester, so clearly, obviously, Jester is better than her.

She smiles, turns away, and walks off with the last word. Avantika gives her a blistering glare as she walks off, is no doubt planning to get back on her for that ending. There’s a skip in her step and a heat in her belly. She decides to go to her bed to touch herself some until she comes again, languishing in her victory.

In the golden heat of winning, she can perhaps generously admit that Avantika’s pussy is pretty nice. Gold quality, at least. But not platinum. She’s not the best, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The absolutely mindblowing illustration was done by [shinyno](http://shinyno.tumblr.com/). Check out their art!


End file.
